


Quick Thinking

by xxenjoy



Series: October prompts 2020 [6]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, First Kiss, M/M, Poisoning, Worried Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxenjoy/pseuds/xxenjoy
Summary: When Geralt passes out just shy of their camp, Jaskier does what he can to help.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: October prompts 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950757
Comments: 14
Kudos: 215





	Quick Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> This is not at all the prompt for today, but I was having a fight with it so artemisthehuntress and in-love-with-writing002 both send prompts and I smushed them together and made this. It was supposed to be smutty, but it got all soft instead. Exactly no one is surprised.

Jaskier is quite proud of himself. He's set their camp up all on his own; built a fire, laid out their bedrolls, even fed and watered Roach and now all that's left is to wait. He thinks about making supper for them, but he doesn't know when Geralt will be back and he wants to be here when he does.

He's turning his lute when he hears it - the thud thud thud of heavy footsteps and his heart rate picks up immediately. He can defend himself well enough if he needs to, but he'd rather not be caught unaware. Especially not when Geralt is off doing his thing and isn't around to help. The thudding gets closer and Jaskier steadies himself, reaching for the dagger he's taken to keeping in his boot. He gets a firm grasp on it, tugs it from its sheath and... recognizes the figure stumbling toward him.

_Fuck. Geralt._

Immediately, Jaskier's heart is in his throat and the dagger slips from his fingers as he bolts forward. He barely makes it to Geralt in time before his eyes drop shut and if Jaskier wasn't beneath him, he'd be on the ground. 

_Fuck, fuck fuck. This is not good._

He hasn't seen Geralt like this in, well, too long to remember off hand - years, maybe. He stumbles back to camp as quickly as he can, supporting all of Geralt's weight and manages to lie him down, more or less on his bedroll. He takes a moment to shut his eyes and compose himself, forcing the fear and anxiety down as well as he can manage. Just a second - that's all he can risk. 

Marginally less panicked, Jaskier starts on his armour. His fingers are shaking, so getting the buckles undone is a bit of a task, but it's important and it's not the first time he's had to do it under less than ideal circumstances. 

It takes much more time than it should, but eventually, Geralt is free from his armour and Jaskier looks him over, running his hands over his body with as much care as he can muster. He peels Geralt out of his shirt, relieved to find his chest is free of wounds, still rising and falling gently with each breath. Breathing is good, he reminds himself. So long as Geralt is still breathing, he can fix whatever this is. 

But he doesn't _know_ what it is. Geralt's skin is scarred and discoloured, but unbroken. His body seems entirely intact, so Jaskier has no clue where to even start. 

_Not something physical_ , says a voice in the back of his mind. He nods in agreement. What isn't physical? Exhaustion, yes, but he's seen Geralt collapse from exhaustion and this is not that. Toxicity? A quick look at his face tells Jaskier there aren't enough potions in his system for poisoning- _Oh. Poison_. 

A basilisk, that's what Geralt was after. And he's come back without the head, so somehow it must have gotten the better of him. Geralt must have some sort of antidote - he has to. 

Jaskier is loath to leave him alone like this, but he needs to do something. He grabs Geralt's whole pack and drops it down next to him. Jaskier sets aside the things he knows, things he might need; swallow, white honey, white raffard's. There are only two bottles at the bottom of the pack that Jaskier doesn't recognize. Gently, he lifts each of them and opens them, wafting the fumes toward himself. Geralt would have a fit if he saw him doing something like this, but he knows the ingredients for the antidote and going off of smell is better than guessing. 

The first bottle is disappointing and Jaskier worries that the second won't be helpful either, but as soon as he opens the bottle, he catches a whiff of blowbal and breathes a heavy sigh of relief. 

He's still a little doubtful as he crawls up over Geralt's chest, but he can do this or he can do nothing. He runs a shaky hand down Geralt's cheek first, tracing the shape of his bottom lip with his thumb. Even if it's not the right thing, Geralt can take it. He's got white honey right here. Swallow. 

Gently, cautiously. Jaskier opens Geralt's jaw, tips the bottle against his lips. He's shaking, the bottle is shaking, but Jaskier presses on. Geralt swallows it and Jaskier holds his breath, waiting for anything. A soft groan slips from Geralt's lips and Jaskier's legs collapse beneath him. It's only then that he realizes he's straddling Geralt's stomach and he shifts down a little to relieve any pressure, lying against him. 

He listens to Geralt's heartbeat, tries to match his breathing to it. The last thing he needs is to hyperventilate and pass out; he won't be any good to anyone unconscious. Reaching up, he runs his fingers through Geralt's hair, focusing on the way the strands slip through his fingers. He listens to his heartbeat. He relaxes. Slowly, but surely. 

Jaskier doesn't sleep, but he's not wholly awake, either. When Geralt eventually stirs beneath him, the sky is dark and Jaskier can't see anything but the man beneath him - and then only barely. Geralt grunts as he tries to sit up and Jaskier presses a hand to his chest, keeping him down. 

"Careful," he says, "are you okay?"

"Jaskier, I'm fine," he frowns at him, looking him up and down like he's only just realized Jaskier is sitting on him. "What are you doing?"

Jaskier's relief is immediately smothered by Geralt's irritation. He feels his shoulders slump involuntarily and he turns to pull away with a sigh. 

"You're welcome for saving you," he huffs, pushing himself from Geralt's chest. Just before he can clamber away, a hand winds around his wrist, pulling him back.

"What are you talking about?"

"Basilisk poison?" Jaskier says, spreading his arms wide. "I dragged your unconscious arse all the way back here and this is all the thanks I get for it. Fine. But don't expect me to do it again." He makes to move, but Geralt's hands come to rest on his hips. Jaskier heats under the touch, shifting awkwardly, but Geralt doesn't let go.

"What did you do?"

"You had an antidote."

"Golden oriole," Geralt mumbles. "It's not labelled."

"I knew what was in it. Smelled it," he shrugs. Geralt's expression softens and he reaches up, running a hand through Jaskier's hair. 

"Clever."

"Sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Jaskier."

"I-" Jaskier chokes, "I thought I was going to lose you this time." He doesn't know what else to say so he leans over again, pressing his face into Geralt's neck. 

"Hey," Geralt whispers, cupping the back of Jaskier's head. He pulls back just enough that Jaskier mimics the motion, looking down on him. "Thank you," Geralt whispers and his hand shift, coming around to cup Jaskier's jaw. He leans up, bumping his nose against Jaskier's and all the breath goes from Jaskier's lungs. 

Geralt's lips meet his, soft and tentative, barely a whisper of a touch, but as Jaskier presses closer, Geralt's uneasiness fades. He tugs Jaskier close, lips parting against his and his free hand comes to wrap around his waist. He kisses him deeply and holds Jaskier against him like he's afraid he might leave. 

The kiss doesn't last long, but when Jaskier pulls away, he's breathless. He pushes himself up, smiling down at Geralt. "Don't do that to me again."

"You know I can't promise that-"

" _Geralt_."

There's a small huff of a laugh and Geralt pulls him down again, mumbling against his lips, "I'll do my best."


End file.
